Jet Lag

Five a.m. I am awake
remembering the blaze
of sagebrush and canyon
in vermilion like the angel
of Tobias descending the mountain.

Perhaps this is my true hour,
this natural insomnia and unnatural sleep.
Heart delivered into my hands,
I am a mother who has just given
birth to a stranger with an infant’s body,
breathless and startled
at the strange apparition.

Yesterday I held my hand
to your breast—a butterfly
fluttered underneath my skin.
Now, 10,000 miles away,
I don’t know if the stillness
in your eye is trust,
or questioning.

In the long, bright afternoon,
work and speech have no place,
only the body’s exhaustion,
its blind obedience to routine.
My body dreams insect dreams—
orchard full of apples,
a far city of rain.
A cocoon unraveling,
burden of new wings.

There are no days or nights
in this endless journey,
no rhythm to this unknowing,
only an eye falling closed,
then opening to sleep.